


what’s there to be faithful to? (i am faithful  to you, darling)

by micahgranados



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Underage Drinking, and they just fuck around, before d1, i think? only by like three years, mal and jay are best friends change my mind, they give each other tats!!!, this happens before they meet evie and carlos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28811340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micahgranados/pseuds/micahgranados
Summary: there are no stars on the isle but mal’s eyes when she’s excited are a beacon enough. that dark, mischievous glint like a shard of a broken bottle or first spilled blood in an alleyway. it never fails to make that snake in place of jay’s heart writhe with anticipation, a matching grin slithering across his face as mal begins to whisper. she always does this; she draws you in with that pointed lilt to her voice: a knife grazing across your throat.“i’ll tat you,” she says decidedly.or: jay and mal give each other tattoos.
Relationships: Jay & Mal (Disney)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	what’s there to be faithful to? (i am faithful  to you, darling)

**Author's Note:**

> this fic takes place when jay is 15 and mal is 14 & they haven’t met evie or carlos yet :)

It’s dark. Not that it usually isn’t dark on the Isle, but it’s that hooded, secretive darkness that only ever seems to accompany Mal. Jay shifts so he’s slightly closer to her. They decided to stay up and spend the night chatting in hushed voices on the small balcony in her hideout that’s only just wide enough for the two of them. 

There’s not much to stare at in the sky. Jay’s only heard about stars from his _ab_ and how brightly they shined; how the entire pitch black was pooled with golden light: secrets just out of grasp. He kind of understands how his _ab_ was driven mad. Who could constantly be so close to the light, to the warmth; to pretty things that danced and tumbled across the sky without wanting it all for yourself?

Maybe that’s why he joined Mal. She could give him that. The bursting adrenaline; giddy grins; pounding steps in time with pounding hearts. 

“Mal,” he says, not turning to face her, “I’m yours, right?”

He is the only one Mal has officially claimed and he bears that fact with pride. Not that he couldn’t handle himself without her help, but it makes them stronger. Allies. A team.

“Yeah.” Her voice is quieter than it usually is; a softer, less brash tone she reserves especially for him. It still has that razor’s edge, but if Jay didn’t know better he would consider it almost friendly. “Of course.” Her gaze flicks to him. “Why?” That word is a low murmur, like the hum of heat that stumbles through their broken radiator at base. 

Jay narrows his eyes. Maybe if he squints enough he’ll be able to make out pinpricks of stars shying through the oppressive barrier of black, but no. 

He replies with a slight shrug. 

Mal clenches her jaw. “Do you not want to be?”

Jay elbows her. “Of course I do, dumbass.”

She cackles, that rare, genuine laugh straight from her stomach. And when Jay turns his head to see what’s so funny, she’s staring at him. 

There are no stars on the Isle but Mal’s eyes when she’s excited are a beacon enough. That dark, mischievous glint like a shard of a broken bottle or first spilled blood in an alleyway. It never fails to make that snake in place of Jay’s heart writhe with anticipation, a matching grin slithering across his face as Mal begins to whisper. She always does this; she draws you in with that pointed lilt to her voice: a knife grazing across your throat. 

“I’ll tat you,” she says decidedly. “I sketched some designs— hold on.” She slips back into the engulfing darkness of base, before coming back seconds later with a few tattered pieces of paper in her grip. 

Nothing is beautiful on the Isle. Everything is rusted or mouldy or crumbling or all three and nothing shines apart from blood and knives. Mal’s sketch is the first properly beautiful thing he’s seen: none of the gaudy jewellery he steals for his _ab_ ’s shop or the bloated, scrawling graffiti that clambers across the warehouse walls. It’s a dragon, spreading its wings, its tail curling at the end. It’s vicious and phenomenal and everything that Mal represents. 

“Shit,” Jay says, slightly hoarsely. 

Mal scowls at him and if it had been any other night at any other time he probably would’ve been smacked and warned not to go soft. But instead, she just scoffs. “Do you want it?”

“Yeah,” he says. 

There’s a few tattoo parlours dotted around the Isle but most of them are expensive and none of them are open at three a.m. They briefly debate if they should steal a gun but decide against it, as they’ve given each other stick and pokes plenty of times before. Mal gathers the supplies: a sewing needle, ink, and a bottle of spirit they found on the side of the street. She grabs a pen and sketches the design on Jay’s bare chest, the head starting in between his collar bones and the tail curling just above his belly button. 

Mal takes a swig of the spirit and he does too, grimacing as it scorches his throat. 

“Right.” Mal takes the needle and dips it in the ink. “Ready?”

Jay nods. Pain is hardly a stranger to him. His own body is testament to that: scars and bruises and cuts and broken bones borne from Isle life. A needle hardly makes him flinch. He suddenly becomes acutely aware of how vulnerable he is: shirt off, revealing his scarred flesh to Mal, who holds a needle in her hand and a few knives up her sleeves. She could smash the bottle of spirit and cut his throat in two seconds, or push him off the balcony and shatter every bone in his body. 

Instead, she settles on her knees and leans in close to him, needle poised almost delicately between her pale fingers. She starts her work. Jay closes his eyes. 

Trust isn’t a thing on the Isle. Assume everyone will betray you because they probably will. Everyone needs to survive; you can’t do that by sharing. You can’t afford to trust or be loyal or any of that sappy shit. You survive by being ruthlessly selfish. 

Is this selfish? Mal claiming him? Does she need him the same way he needs her? An unspoken promise of solidarity; brushing fingertips whilst the other locks away sobs after a fight; shared sips of rain water or silently passing them the least mouldy chunk of bread. It’s not that they couldn’t survive without each other, it’s that they can slowly begin to _live_ with each other. And maybe it’s selfish, but it’s selfish in the same way cats kill birds to stay alive one more day. It’s selfish in a, _you make things slightly more bearable_ way. 

The sky is beginning to melt into grey when the repetitive twinge of pain stops. 

Mal meets his eyes. “Finished,” she whispers. 

Jay looks down at his chest, at the dragon guarding an empty rib cage, and a warmth speckles over him. Not the same warmth that comes from a lighter or the grimacing burn of alcohol blazing in your throat, but the kind of warmth that only comes when he and Mal nap together on the lumpy mattress in base. 

He clenches his jaw, stamping it out. “Sick,” he says. 

Mal nods in agreement, stretching out like a cat after being hunched over for so long. “Now you can’t betray me,” she teases. 

“You ruin all my plans.”

She laughs, throwing her head back. “Now do me.”

Jay frowns. “You?”

“Yeah. I want your mark.” Her eyes dance in the dim morning murk. 

“I don’t have a mark.”

Mal considers this, tilting her head to the side slightly. Jay’s fingers brush against the dragon’s head. Mal wants his claim. She wants to be his as much as he’s hers. The two of them are lone stars in the endless sky, joined by nothing but a raging desire to be more than they were promised. 

Hand clasped at his chest, Jay says, “your mother turned into a dragon. My _ab_ turned into a _thueban._ ”

“What’s that?” Mal asks, unfamiliar with some of the Arabic Jay speaks. 

“A big snake.”

Mal grins, and Jay could swear he sees fangs. “I want that.”

They design it, bent over Mal’s tattered sketchbook, heads pressed together. She moves the pencil the same way she moves a knife: confidently, purposefully, knowing she is dangerous. Jay wonders if her mother knows she draws. 

As the Isle starts to wake up —shouting from the harbour and rough laughter from drunken men— they finish the drawing, and that same prick of heat claws at his face as Mal gazes at it with a look nothing less of cattish, smug pride. Then, Jay tries to roughly replicate it on Mal’s right arm. The _thueban_ ’shead begins at her shoulder, forked tongue flicked, and its scaled body twists down her arm, tail coiling just above where the forearm begins. 

Mal hands him the needle. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“I’ve never fucked anything up in my life,” Jay promises her, but they both know that’s a lie. “It doesn’t hurt too much,” he says after a moment. 

“I’m not worried about it hurting,” Mal rolls her eyes. “I’m worried about having a fucked up snake on my arm. How am I meant to be taken seriously if it’s shit?”

“You’re not taken seriously anyway,” Jay shrugs, earning a playful smack on the arm. 

Mal takes another gulp out the bottle and he does too, before beginning the work on her claim. Jay is silently glad that he’s good with his hands, because he definitely does not want to fuck up Mal’s tat. This is important. This is them clinging to each other in a frenzied attempt to find some sort of comfort in this prison they were consigned to. Mal is being selfish. Mal is saying, _I want you. Out of hundreds of others, I want_ you. And Jay is choosing her back. Mutual loyalty they can’t afford to give others. If they ever escaped the Isle and went to Agrabah where the stars gleam and shed golden into the hollow night sky, Jay would take them for Mal. He would hold their burning forms in his palms and wouldn’t flinch as his flesh blistered and smoked. That would be the one thing he would choose to steal. Not for his _ab_ or because he had to so he didn’t starve, but stealing them to declare something to Mal. A promise: _I would do anything if it meant you would keep me by your side. I would endure anything for you._

“There,” Jay says, exhaling a deep breath and flinging himself down on the narrow iron grate. 

“Wow,” comes Mal’s surprised voice, “it’s not actually that shit.”

“I’ll push you over the balcony if you don’t watch your tongue.”

“Not if I don’t stab you first.” Jay sits up, and Mal looks at him. “Guess we’re bound to each other now, huh?” She says.

“Unfortunately.”

She barks out a laugh. “Is it too late to take my claim back?” 

He punches her lightly on the un-tattooed arm. 

Mal says something about being thirsty so she disappears back inside. Jay sits alone, watching the Isle and all its dull colours begin to fill the streets. His fingers trace the dragon that’s perched on his chest, skating from its head to curling around its tail. A dragon and a snake. A fairy and a thief. A captain and her lieutenant. Slippery and callous and unstoppable. Two stars, daring anyone to rip them from their rightful thrones in the sky. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi thank you so so much for reading!! i would really appreciate it if u left comments & kudos it rlly makes my day!!
> 
> small disclaimer that i don’t speak arabic so the arabic used in this fic is courtesy of reverso and google translate!! if u do speak arabic pls don’t hesitate to correct me!!
> 
> i can be found at juliesscooby on twitter or ilovefredjones on tumblr!!


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